The Untimely Death of Rory Gilmore
by Finnigan Geist
Summary: Rory/Jess set during 2x16: There's the Rub. What would happen if, instead of Dean interrupting dinner, Rory turned into a vampire? Probably not this.


**The Untimely Death of Rory Gilmore, and other misadventures  
pairing**: Rory/Jess  
**rating**: M for language, eventual sexytimes, vampire-related violence, character death (and undeath).  
**summary**: Set during 2x16: _There's the Rub_. What would happen if, instead of Dean interrupting dinner, Rory turned into a vampire? Probably not this.  
**notes**: Yes, this is a vampire AU. No, I don't know how that happened. It _is_ supposed to be dark comedy. Feel free to laugh when characters die.  
Also: The first few chapters of this series will be an actual story arc, and, following that, I'm planning on what will amount to one-shots in the same universe.  
I apologize for all these notes.  
**acknowledgements**: To cadence for the beta, encouragement, and convincing me that this isn't the stupidest thing ever.

* * *

"I'm upset with Dean," Lorelai announced, resting her chin on her fist thoughtfully. Jess smirked to himself as he wiped down tables, wondering what Wonderboy could have _possibly_ done to earn Lorelai's disapproval. Maybe the oral he gave Lorelai _all the time_ hadn't been up to par last night. Jess paused for a moment as his stomach flipped. Jesus Christ, he couldn't have conjured a more repulsive mental image if he tried. He gave himself a shake and continued working. No matter how often he cleaned, the construction dust got everywhere.

Luke didn't respond more than a disinterested grunt, and Jess could tell without looking that he was making up another pot of coffee. Lorelai probably wouldn't even notice.

"No, not upset, I guess," she continued, evidently unconcerned that no one was interested. "More… confused." Luke grunted again.

Lorelai said nothing for a moment. "Luke. Did you want to know why I'm confused? About Dean?"

Internally, Jess sighed, and Luke echoed it aloud a second later. "Gee, Lorelai, why are you confused about Dean?"

"That's very kind of you to ask, and I'll tell you why, and then maybe you'll feel bad for not caring in the first place."

Jess loaded up both hands with empty dishes and walked them into the back room. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Lorelai looking contemplatively into the middle distance and Luke watching her, an impatient hand on his hip.

"Well?" Luke prompted.

Jess joined Luke behind the counter, tidying as he went. Chunk of plaster here, bit of drywall or something there. Jess didn't have the greatest faith in the carpenters of Stars Hollow to not actually destroy the diner in the process of expanding the apartment. Lorelai refocused on Luke, her lips puckered distastefully. "He gave Rory a hickey."

Luke startled, and Jess' gut turned again. He was surprised by a moment of empathy with Lorelai; that _was_ upsetting.

"God!" Luke practically shouted. "Why would you tell me that?" He rubbed his hands over his face, scrubbing at his eyes. "Why would you ever think I would want to _know_ that? Did you want me to defend her honor or something?"

Lorelai rapped her nails on the counter. "Well," she said slowly, "it's not actually like that's unusual behavior for teenagers, you know. Ones who are dating, and have been dating for, like, years now."

"One year," Luke said, still a little flustered.

"Whatever, that's plenty long for kids their age. I was knocked up way before that in the longest relationship I had."

Luke's eyes bugged, but Lorelai continued without seeming to notice. "It's just strange that it's never happened before. I guess." She huffed. "I'm not even sure _why_ it's bothering me as much as it is. I mean, it's proof that they're, like, normal – isn't it?"

Luke looked at her like she was insane and she tilted her head. "It just – it looks like a … a … _love bite_. Like a _bite_." She snapped her teeth to demonstrate and Luke nodded frantically, motioning to her to continue. "And when I brought it up, thinking I could mock her - _forever_ - she was surprised. She didn't even know it was there."

Lorelai held her hands in the air in an exaggerated shrug, and Luke bent his head in low to her, bracing himself on the counter. "Lorelai," he said gravely. "Do you think he did it while she was asleep?"

Her entire face scrunched up in confusion and Jess had to bite down a laugh. He slid away unnoticed, rounding the counter to clear off a newly abandoned table.

"What? Luke, what are you _saying_? I'm not accusing Dean of any criminal activity, I just – ugh, never mind." She flapped her hands dismissively. "I think I'm just worrying because I'm going out of town tomorrow night."

Jess perked up at that, slowing his pace.

"Wait, you're leaving for the weekend? You're going to leave Rory alone?" Luke sounded truly offended. "With _Dean_? On a Friday? So he can paw at her and … and … _chew_ on her?"

The intensity of Luke's distress seemed to have cured Lorelai of hers. She made a dismissive noise and reached for her purse. "I can't help it; I'm in Emily Gilmore's demonic, vice-like grip. It's intractable. Houdini wouldn't be able to escape these bonds.

"Anyway, Rory's going to spend the night alone in the house. Evidently she's so excited when I leave that she has to spend the time basking in silence. As though I'm that loud!"

Luke scoffed and rolled his eyes, which prompted Lorelai to start up a back-and-forth with him about how quiet and peaceful she was – and_Jesus_, there was only so much of that Jess could handle listening to. He deposited dirty dishes in the back room and came back out to the same conversation.

Jess looked around the diner. There were people in here – all of them, he assumed, with perfectly functional hearing, and Lorelai was announcing that her hickey-riddled daughter was going to be alone in the house over the weekend. He just shook his head. He didn't get the way the town worked, and, for a moment, he felt a little bad for Rory. She couldn't _sneeze_ without everyone knowing about it.

"Well, I have to go," Lorelai declared, slapping a couple of bills on the counter. "I'm off to hell for the weekend. Wish me luck!"

"Good luck!" Jess called, tossing a towel over his shoulder.

Lorelai faltered, her hand on the doorknob, to give Jess a suspicious look.

He grinned and held up a hand to her. "Have fun!"

Her eyes narrowed but she smiled. "Thanks," she replied with as much treacly sweetness as she could muster, and let her expression fall into cool unamusement as she walked out the door.

The construction in the diner made everything there worse. Luke was crankier, the patrons were sending back dusty food, and there was no escape in the apartment. His air mattress was completely destroyed now, the victim of a stray power tool, and Jess' room, for the moment, was a sleeping bag shoved in the corner farthest from the construction, next to Luke's bed. All the outlets were off-limits or in use, so he couldn't even listen to music or turn on lights to read.

He was in the frame of mind to do something stupid. The problem with Stars Hollow was that it was so small that he was running out of things to screw with. There was always Taylor, but Jess didn't want to overplay that hand. Watching Taylor get bug-eyed with anger and flail his arms at Luke was starting to lose its appeal.

His mind kept wandering back to what Lorelai had said the previous morning. She was out of town, and Rory was home alone.

The plan had formed in his mind before he was fully aware it was developing.

Luke was yelling at Tom again – it happened at least once every hour, and Luke got so focused when he was pissed off that he didn't even notice Jess. Not when Jess deliberately selected multiple to-go containers from the shelves by Luke's head, or when he lined those containers up neatly, side-by-side, on the counter at Luke's elbow. And not when Jess took half an hour walking back and forth between the kitchen and the diner to cook enough food to fill them all.

Luke was still yelling when Jess was packing up the box, considering it like a puzzle and rearranging the packages inside it to get it all to fit.

"Tom, a chunk of drywall hit me in the head! I don't think your guys know what they're doing!"

"Chunks of drywall have been hitting a lot of people in the head." A second later, another piece of ceiling landed on an empty chair. Tom pointed to it. "See?"

"That's the point! The walls should not be falling in!" As much as Luke tended to overreact to everything, Jess was on his side for this. It was another good reason to get out of the diner. He was much less likely to die in a horrible construction accident if he was with Rory.

"Well, sor_ry_," Tom drawled, not sounding sorry at all. "I tried to tell you that there would be no disruptions at all if we did this entirely as an after-hours project. My guys are used to working nights anyway – all this daytime stuff is throwing them off."

"Are you saying that they're wrecking the diner because I screwed up their sleep schedule?"

Tom shrugged. "It's a possible factor."

The last piece of the food-in-a-box puzzle was a bag full of condiments – not ketchup or salt and pepper packets, because he knew that was one thing the Gilmores did have in abundance – things like cheese sauce and a container of Ranch dressing. There wasn't any salad – he knew better than that – but what the hell, Rory might like putting that crap on her fries or something. He couldn't figure a way to get it to fit without completely dismantling the rest of the box, and he didn't want to do that. It'd just have to sit on top of everything.

"That's another thing, Tom. You know I found two of your guys asleep in the storage room earlier?" Luke pointed viciously toward the kitchen, just missing hitting Jess in the face.

Jess scowled but said nothing. He considered, briefly, telling Luke that he was going out, but he didn't think Luke would hear him. At any rate, it was downright stupid to attract Luke's attention when he was in this bad of a mood. He'd be upset with Jess no matter what he said he was doing.

He set the box down on a table by the door while he shrugged into his jacket. Miss Patty, who was sitting across from him and running her fingers up and down her water glass with unsettling deliberation, looked him over.

"Where are you going with all that food, honey? You got a date tonight?"

"You bet," he said, buttoning the jacket. "Me and this hand." He waved to her and yanked the door open, propping it open with his foot, and grabbed the box quickly, hoping to get out before she could reply.

He heard her low chuckle as the door shut behind him. "That's a shame!" she called.

Jess shook his head, walking briskly. Everything was everybody's goddamn business around here.

Even though it was only two-tenths of a mile from the diner to the Gilmore house, a box packed to bursting with hot food was heavy, and fucking _hot_. He was having trouble keeping the box steady in his sweaty grip by the time he jogged up the steps. He balanced it on one knee to hit the doorbell and juggled its balance with alternating hands to wipe his palms off on his pants and give the collar of his jacket a sharp upward tug.

He just had himself in order when Rory opened the door, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, her hair loose around her shoulders. He couldn't help the smile that tugged up the corners of his mouth, so he tried to slant it into a smirk.

"Delivery."

"Jess," she said, a tiny line forming between her eyebrows.

"I brought food," he said, as though the box full of to-go containers wasn't self-explanatory.

Rory looked down at it and then back at him. "Oh. Why?"

"Luke knew Lorelai was going out of town and he wanted to make sure you didn't go hungry." Her eyes tracked over his face, down to the collar of his coat, expression unreadable. "So, where do you want this? Kitchen?"

He moved into the house without waiting for her reply. She followed just behind him, hands stuck deep in her pockets.

"Uh, sure. That's awesome timing. I was trying to decide where I wanted to get food from and nothing really sounded good. The original plan was Sandeep's, but I don't know. It's so garlicky."

"Yeah. You'd have to burn the house down afterward to kill the smell." He set the food down on the table and glanced at her. She was looking at him oddly, a little smile on her face.

"What? What's with that look?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Just sometimes I don't quite get why you and Mom don't get along better."

Jess rolled his eyes and started unloading containers. "Yeah, that's a real mystery."

Rory took a step toward the table. "That's a ton of food. How much does Luke think I eat?"

Jess snorted and lifted his eyebrows at her.

"Seriously, I don't need _that_ much for one night."

"Well, Luke didn't know how long you'd be alone. So he made you enough food for _two_ nights."

Rory's eyes narrowed minutely. "That's very nice of Luke. I'll have to thank him."

"Yep."

Rory nodded and joined him at the table. She started going through the containers, lifting some to peer at the contents. "Do you want to help me eat this?"

_What?_

"What?"

"I really can't eat all of this, and reheated fries suck."

Jess was trying – he honestly was – to get his bearings back. It wasn't like Rory to take initiative, especially not to interact with _him_. It was a game just to get her to admit that she thought of him as a friend.

It took him a second – just one, he thought – to reply. "So you want to have dinner with me?" He smirked and quirked his eyebrow as far as it would go. He felt idiotic, like he was trying too hard.

"Yeah, if you want to stay."

His jaw dropped open, but the teasing reply he'd had ready was useless. "Oh."

"Paris is here, too. I figure there's enough for all of us. Feel free to join in if you want. After all, you brought the food. Take off your jacket, pull up a chair." She waved a hand at the table and turned, heading back into the living room, where he could hear her talking to Paris. Jess hadn't noticed her.

Oh. It wasn't going to be just the two of them, and there was no reason for Rory to be weird about him staying. Right.

He set to work, quietly pulling out plates, utensils, and cups for the three of them. By the time Paris and Rory came into the kitchen to eat, he had their places set and was eating his own dinner. Paris looked around at the mound of food, her eyes widening. "There _is_ mac and cheese," she said, sounding almost awed. Jess couldn't help himself from smiling in response.

"Yeah, it's a bountiful cornucopia," he said, trying for sarcasm but missing by a couple of degrees. He was off his game tonight. "Dig in."

Paris sat, rolling up her sleeves. Rory glanced at the table, briefly touching the glass of soda he'd gotten her. "Thanks," she said, pulling out her chair.

He shrugged, watching Paris serve herself food. He remembered her from the time she'd accused Luke of running a brothel in the diner. "Are there any 24-hour pharmacies around here in case this food kills me?" she asked, sucking melted cheese off her thumb.

Dinner was going to be strange.

Five minutes later, they were debating poetry. Five minutes after that - Russian authors, Dickens versus Gaskell, Dorothy Parker's opinion on the Beat Generation, and the complete unreadability of Tristram Shandy, gentleman though he may be. Naturally, this evolved into a discussion of the value – or total lack thereof – of reading list classics.

"You need to expand your mind a little from your Dead White Man canon," Jess said around a mouthful of coleslaw.

"Oh, really?" Paris replied challengingly. Her expression was fierce, but she was having fun. Hell, _he_ was having fun.

"Tell me, what exactly about my Dead White Man canon, as you put it, is so wrong? How is reading Terri McMillan – and like anyone is going to remember who _she_ is in five years – going to get me into Harvard?"

Jess laughed. "I have no idea what'll get you into Harvard. That's the thing; I'm talking about reading because you love books, not because you love the Ivy League. Read everything, the shit and the high brow." He poked around the table, searching for hot sauce. "And Terri McMillan isn't the only non-dead, non-white, non-man author in the world."

He looked over at Rory, who was watching him with an almost unsettling interest. "You're not eating," he pointed out, stuffing more fries in his mouth. She smiled at him tightly and shook her head.

"I'm not really hungry." She lowered her eyes to his collar and then looked away.

He frowned a little. "Are you sure you're feeling OK?"

She nodded, rubbing her neck idly. When her hair shifted away from her skin, he caught a glimpse of the hickey Lorelai mentioned earlier. He had forgotten about it, disregarding Lorelai's concern as part of her – and the whole town's – collective insane protectiveness about Rory, but once he saw it, he was surprised by the intensity of his urge to hit Dean in his gigantic face. The mark was large and high up her neck, raised in a bruise. It looked like Dean really had bitten her.

He wasn't paying attention to Paris anymore, which both girls noticed almost simultaneously. Rory colored when she saw where he was looking and brushed her hair forward to cover the bruise. Paris, meanwhile, slammed her palm against the table.

"Hey!" she called. "We're having a conversation here. You can ogle Snow White when we're done."

Jess lifted his eyebrows and turned his attention back to Paris, trying to gauge Rory's reaction in his periphery. She shifted a little, but there was no way to see if she was blushing without looking at her. He couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his mouth.

"I'm sorry," he said mildly. "Continue."

"Your position is crap."

Jess chuckled, pushing down the nagging feeling of worry over Rory. Maybe sometimes she actually didn't eat a metric ton of food. It would make sense, medically speaking.

"How's that?" he asked, forcing himself to focus on Paris.

"Enjoying literature just to enjoy it is a waste of time. Everything I do – and everything I have done for as far back as I can remember – is about getting to the top. Being the best at Chilton, and then at Harvard, and then at medical school. Do you think any neurosurgeons will be impressed when I tell them, 'Golly, I sure loved the latest Norah Roberts'? You might as well tell me that I need to take the time to appreciate a really beautiful rainbow. Sniff a flower." She sliced her hand through the air dismissively.

The phone rang, and Paris continued, unconcerned. "We'll check back in five years' time and you can tell me how much Nicholas Sparks has enriched _your_ life."

Rory made no move to get up or answer the phone, and Paris shot her a frustrated glance. "Are you going to get that?"

Rory blinked at her, expression blank. "That's not my phone." Both girls turned their focus to Jess.

His eyebrows shot up. "I don't have a cell phone. The ringing's not even coming from over here, it's coming from the living room."

Paris' forehead furrowed. "Is that my phone? Who in the hell would be calling _me_ on a Friday night?" She stood quickly, wiping her hands on a napkin and muttering. "Louise? I thought those idiots had dates tonight. She better not be calling me because she's stranded at a bar without her shoes again – I told her I'd be studying."

"You're not studying. You're having dinner."

"Shut up, Gilmore," she called from the hall.

Jess sent an amused look Rory's way. "She's crazy," he said, smiling.

Rory shrugged, resting her elbows on the table. "She's Paris." She leaned closer, intent on his face. One corner of her mouth pulled up. "But I'm guessing you're having a better time here than you would at the diner."

Jess snorted. "What, with all the banging and yelling and imminent decapitation by stray hand saws? It's a ball. And I'm always real sad when I can't spend more quality time with Uncle Luke."

Rory tilted her head. "Well, I'm glad you're here."

Jess paused. He wasn't sure if she meant here tonight or in Stars Hollow in general, but that was… unexpected. He looked up at Rory, trying to figure out how to respond. She was watching him, a small smile toying at her lips. He couldn't think of a thing to say.

"Yeah, your life would be pretty dull without me," he offered at last with a mischievous smile.

"That it would," she agreed brightly, an unusual glint in her eye.

Paris came back into the kitchen wearing her jacket, her bag slung over her shoulder. She held her cell phone loosely in one hand and was studying it with apparent confusion.

"Is everything all right?" Rory asked, moving to stand.

Paris' attention snapped to Rory. "Yes," she said quickly. "I mean –" She looked down at the phone, mouth slanting in concentration. She looked back at Rory, assessing. "Can I trust you?"

Rory made a vague arm gesture. "Yes?"

Paris' eyes narrowed. "You better be serious about that." Rory shifted uncomfortably. "It should come as no surprise that I have contacts in high places. I just got a call from someone I never, _ever_ expected to be useful. This is big. Maybe… maybe even bigger than a Franklin cover article."

"You have contacts in high places to give you tips for Franklin articles?" Even though Jess couldn't see, he could tell Rory's face was lightly scrunched in confusion.

"Of course. And I guess I'm feeling weirdly… benevolent, I don't know, but probably a little insane – and I think it might be a reaction to all the dairy I've had tonight – but if this is as good as I think it is, I might let you in on it." She tipped her head back, fixing Rory with an imperious look.

"In on …it? For what?"

"A shared byline."

Rory nodded slowly. "That's really… thanks, Paris!"

"Yeah, well, we'll see. I'll call you when I get to the morgue."

Rory flipped her attention to Jess, expression bewildered. He mouthed _morgue?_, eyebrows shooting up, and Rory gave a little laugh.

"Well, bye," Paris said, turning abruptly for the door. Rory jogged after her, calling out something about note cards and study binders.

Alone at the kitchen table, Jess felt the slightest bit awkward. Rory had been behaving strangely all evening, and once they were alone, he honestly had no idea where the evening would go, if she'd even want him to stay. He already had an invitation to dinner, and he could probably spin that into a movie, and maybe even rifling through her books. With her permission, this time.

He stood, clearing away the remains of Paris' dinner partially out of habit and partially out of discomfort with waiting passively for Rory to return. He heard Rory wish Paris a good night, as well as a half-hearted offer that she didn't need a shared byline for a story about dead bodies – to which Paris gave the prompt reassurance that it wasn't about necrophilia – and close the door.

Jess propped himself against the counter on one hand, his other hand stuffed in his pocket. Rory walked back into the kitchen, her focus on the floor, and was surprised when she almost ran into him.

"Oh," she said, taking an involuntary step back.

"So." He raised his eyebrows.

She pushed her sleeves up to her elbows in a nervous gesture. "Um."

Jess indicated the table with a tilt of the head. "Did you want to finish eating? Or… start eating, since you really haven't had anything?" She shifted, twisting her mouth in apparent concentration. He pulled an exaggerated frown, sticking out his bottom lip. "Luke will be very angry with me if he finds out I didn't feed you."

Rory looked at him then, expression unreadable. She took a step toward him, the deliberation and caution in her movement making his lungs constrict.

"Isn't Luke expecting you back soon? Didn't he just send you over here to drop the food off, or… was he planning on you spending the evening with me?"

Jess held her eyes, unblinking. "He didn't care."

Rory nodded, moving closer. Her eyes tracked over his neck and shoulders, and he felt a slight tug of tension in his back. It seemed she'd been doing that a lot, and he didn't remember her having a problem looking him in the eye before tonight. It was, he supposed, possible that he simply had the world's most appealing clavicle. He would have to wear button-downs more often.

She made a self-conscious move for him, drawing her clenched fists back to her sides. Jess bowed his head, attention fixed on her hands. Going against every bit of self-preservation he had, he reached for her.

He gripped her elbows loosely, thumbs playing with the hem of her shirtsleeves, pushed up to her elbows. He kept his head bent, focused on his hands and hers. She lifted her right hand slowly, tentatively, to rest on his shoulder. It was outside his field of vision, but he could feel her roll the fabric of his shirt between her fingers. He brushed his hand across the inside of her elbow, loosely looping his fingers around her forearm. He lifted her arm as he slid his hand to her wrist, pausing when he reached her bracelet. He hooked a finger under the suede and flicked the medallion with his thumb.

_Piece of shit thing_, he thought. Now that he knew it was a present from Dean, he felt a little stupid about the two weeks he'd carried it around. Used it as a bookmark. He sighed. Part of him wanted to pick the knot loose and let it fall to the floor as a sort of very pointed symbolism. But he couldn't be the one who did that, and he wasn't entirely sure what was happening here.

He looked up at her, still toying with the bracelet. To his surprise, she was intent on his face, and immediately caught his eye.

"Rory." He didn't know what to say – he didn't want to stop whatever was coming next.

She edged in closer, gently extracting her wrist from his hold to curl her fingers around the back of his neck, dip her fingertips into the hair at the base of his skull. He traced his hand back down her arm to rest on her waist. They both inched nearer.

She was so close. Too close to hold her gaze without going crosseyed. Their noses touched and she tilted her head, bypassing his lips to brush her cheek against his, curving her neck so her mouth was at his pulse. He could feel her hot, heavy breathing on his neck, and he shivered.

"I don't know what I'm doing." Her voice was low but clear. She was far too close to his ear for him not to hear.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his grip on her waist tensing momentarily as disappointment briefly spiked into anger and dulled again into a low ache. Jess drew away with a sigh, dropping his hands to his sides. "Yeah," he said, trying to sound indifferent. At first, she didn't let go, but he leaned back with just enough force to break her hold.

Absent Jess to support her, she clutched at the counter, breathing deeply. This was a much stronger reaction to almost kissing him than he would have expected – some part of him wanted to be flattered, but mostly it was annoying and confusing and he couldn't make sense of what she wanted from him.

"Jess," she mumbled.

"No, I get it," he cut in. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear Dean's name or _I love him_ or _I can't do this to him_ or any other bullshit. "It's no biggie."

She shook her head, passing a hand across her forehead. She lurched sideways and righted herself, fixing her unfocused eyes on him. "Jess," she said again, sounding confused.

He took a step toward her, touching a hand to her shoulder. "Rory? What's wrong?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. Her eyelids fluttered and she took a heavy, unsteady step backward. Her grip on the counter slipped loose.

She was fainting.

"Rory!"

Jess tried to position himself to catch the brunt of her fall with his body, stumbling as he moved too quickly and already off-balance when her shoulder hit him in the center of his chest with all the force of her dead weight behind it. He staggered, winded, and Rory was still falling. He lost whatever balance he still had and his stomach dropped in the split second of free fall before he landed hard on his tailbone. Rory followed him down into his lap, her legs sliding out at odd angles, her head thumping into his shoulder.

Jess swallowed roughly, taking a moment to regain his bearings from the shock of impact. He supported Rory under her armpits, trying to sit her upright, but her head lolled heavily to the side.

The phone rang. He swore mentally, glancing down at Rory. He had to get her off the floor, and he had to call an ambulance. Whoever was calling would have to fuck themselves. Or, maybe, if it was Lorelai, she'd be worried enough when Rory didn't answer the phone that she'd call the police herself.

"Rory?" he tried, knowing he wouldn't get a response. She wasn't conscious.

He looped his arms under her armpits, clasping his hands together at her sternum, and stood carefully. Her body sank into his hold, her arms akimbo and her neck bent sharply, pressed against his chest. Jess didn't love the idea of dragging her, but he knew it would be effective and put less strain on him than if he tried to carry her.

He pulled Rory into her bedroom, feeling his erratic heartbeat echoing against his ribs where she was propped against him. He hefted her onto her bed, using careful movements to straighten her limbs. Still bent low over her, his breath caught hot and painful in his chest. Her pallor was frightening, her complete lack of response even more so.

He bent his knees, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet. Was she hypoglycemic? Was _that_ why she was eating all the time? But if she was and she knew it, why hadn't she been eating? He cupped her face in one hand, tilting it to him gently, and smoothed her hair back with the other. Her skin was cool to the touch, but not enough to make him more worried than he already was. He pulled up one of her eyelids and stopped – her pupils were huge. The smallest sliver of blue was still visible around them, and he hadn't seen them contract in response to the light. He let her eyelid drop shut and ran his hand across his mouth. She looked fucking _stoned_.

This didn't make any sense. He brushed her hair off her neck and his stomach flipped again at the sight of the bruise there, which looked even worse now in stark, painful contrast with her pale skin. Her pulse fluttered gently underneath the mark.

Somewhere in the kitchen, the phone stopped ringing. Jess didn't hear the answering machine pick up, which meant the line was free. He was on his feet before he was aware of his determination to get to the phone, bursting into the kitchen at the same moment Dean came in through the back door, cell phone in hand.

They both froze. If Jess hadn't been distracted worrying about Rory, he would have found the way Dean's features all slowly pulled toward the middle of his face _extremely_ amusing. As it was, he just wanted to find a fucking phone. He eyed the one in Dean's hand, realizing with some bitterness who had just been calling.

"What the hell are you doing in Rory's room?" Dean asked, voice low. He scanned the kitchen, the corners of his mouth turning down as he took in the scene. He looked back up at Jess. "Where's Rory?"

"She's in there," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "You might want to hold off on the whole scowling and looming and threatening thing for just a minute, though. I need to call an ambulance. Give me your phone."

He was being completely sincere, but Dean sneered. "You really think you'd do that well in a fight, or are you calling the ambulance for yourself?" He deliberately put his cell phone in his jeans pocket. Jess just rolled his eyes and stepped over to the shelves, flipping over books and papers. He thought for sure Rory had brought the portable in here – it had sounded like it was in this room when it had been ringing earlier, too.

"Rory?" Dean called, ignoring Jess for the moment to stomp into her bedroom. Jess swore to himself. He had maybe ten seconds to find the phone and call 911 before Dean started lumbering around in a rage.

He jogged to the table on the other side of her door. _Ah-ha_. He grabbed the phone as Dean reemerged from Rory's room, expression thunderous.

"Can this wait just a second?" he asked, indicating the phone in his hand and trying valiantly to sound sincere.

Before he could react, Dean's fists were in his shirt, swinging him around and propelling him into the wall right next to Rory's bedroom door. Jess lost his grip on the phone, which clattered to the floor, and grabbed Dean's wrists, trying to break his hold. His shoulders and then his head hit hard, leaving him winded and momentarily stunned.

"What did you do?" Dean snarled in his ear, his face so close it was the only thing Jess could see. Jess' toes were barely touching the floor, and Dean was still looking down at him.

"Nothing," he said, as disdainfully as he could while only partially able to breathe. "She collapsed. We have to call – " Dean cut him off by pulling him away from the wall just enough to slam him back into it again. Jess' teeth snapped together.

"Fuck you," Dean hissed. "I know you're lying. What's that on her neck, huh? I kept hearing around today that I gave Rory a hickey. I thought it was just stupid gossip, but it was _you_." He shifted his grip, holding Jess to the wall with a beefy forearm across his chest, his other hand still fisted in Jess' shirt. He pressed his weight onto the arm pinning Jess, crushing him.

Jess laughed breathlessly. "Wasn't me," he wheezed. Strange and hilarious that it wasn't Dean, either. It made more sense in his view of the world, but much less in that the mark was now completely unexplained.

"Bullshit." Dean said. "She told me she wanted to spend the night alone, and here _you_ are. How long has this been going on, huh?"

Jess was getting lightheaded. Distantly, he was worried about his ribs. He didn't know how much more pressure they could bear, and he couldn't get any leverage to fight back. Dean was practically flush against him, and every now and then Jess felt Dean's hip bump into his thigh.

He _hoped_ that was Dean's hip.

He coughed out another bitter laugh. Rory might be dying and Dean was too concerned with trying to kill Jess to help her. There wasn't a thing he could say to argue his case, and why the fuck should he bother anyway?

"Does it matter?" Jess snarled. "You need to call an ambulance, you stupid piece of shit."

Dean's expression faltered. He glanced at the bedroom door, right beside them, and snapped his attention back to Jess. "What did you do?" he asked again, concern filtering through his anger. The pressure on Jess' chest eased. "What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing." Both of them turned at the sound of Rory's voice, directly beside them. She was a little rumpled but perfectly alert. Jess' heart skipped in overwhelming relief. Absently, he wondered how the hell she'd gotten there so quickly and quietly. Grace and athleticism were not Rory's strong suits.

"Dean, what are you doing here?" She looked at Jess, and then at Dean's arm, and then at Dean's face, her expression darkening. "What are you doing to Jess?"

Dean pulled back, releasing his hold, and Jess' weight hit the ground unevenly. He staggered, bumped into Dean's chest, and rebounded into the wall again. He couldn't help a little grunt of pain on impact. Both impacts.

"Rory," Dean breathed. "You're OK?"

"Yeah," she said, glowering. Her pupils still looked odd, far too large.

"Are you sure?" Jess asked, pressing a hand to his sore chest, and both Rory and Dean looked surprised that he'd spoken. "You fainted, Rory." She'd tried to kiss him and then fainted and now she was out here looking like she was mad at Dean. _Something_ wasn't right.

Dean took a step toward Jess, pointing a finger at him, but Rory cut him off before he could say anything.

"What are you doing here?" she asked again, tone flat.

Dean scoffed, gesturing to the table and to Jess. "What is _he_ doing here, Rory? What's going on?"

She put her hands on her hips. "He brought me food. It wasn't planned. I should be able to have a Friday night to myself if I _ask_ you for it, Dean, and there's no reason to go tossing him into walls. He was being nice."

"Right!" Dean yelled. "_Nice_. Is that what you call _that_?" He pointed to Rory's neck. "That's really nice, Rory."

"He didn't give this to me."

"That's crap. You're here, alone, with _Jess_, with a hickey, and a nice _dinner_," Dean flapped his hands in the air sarcastically, "and I'm supposed to believe that none of these things are related? That's a magical hickey that came from nowhere?" The volume of his voice increased as he spoke. Rory made no move to back away.

"If I'm wrong," he spat, "then tell me what _is_ happening."

Rory angled her body so she was fully facing Dean, her fingers flexing at her waist. Her jaw was tight, her eyes fixed on Dean's, but she said nothing. It was a wonder to see her like this – posture oddly straight, attitude defiant – but it made Jess worry that there was something seriously wrong. Like a virus attacking her brain stem, maybe, or a tumor.

"Well?" Dean shouted, looming over her. "Say something!"

"Hey, back off!" Jess snapped, bracing himself for another impact. He was going to tackle the fuck out of Dean if he got any closer to Rory.

Dean's entire face scrunched up in an angry twist. "I swear, Jess, I am this close to taking you outside and –"

"Dean!" Rory grabbed his face, forcing his attention back to her. "Stop it."

Jess heard the _crack_ at the same time he saw Dean's head twist around sharply in a movement so fast his mind hardly registered it. Rory let go her hold, leaving her hands in the air, fingers spread wide. Dean didn't even have time to look surprised, his fingers giving one feeble spasm before he collapsed on the floor.

Jess' stomach seized. _Fuck!_ He stumbled back into the wall, staring at Rory. She let her hands drop to her side slowly.

_What the fuck? What the fuck?_ He may have said it out loud.

Rory turned to him, her dark eyes wide and dancing. She smiled.

_Fuck_.

to be continued


End file.
